Arian (20 page)

‘You would rather him be influenced by your behaviour, would you?’ Sarah said angrily. ‘You and that man lying together, it’s disgusting.’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘You’ll never understand, will you? Chas and I are loyal to each other. You, on the other hand don’t know the meaning of the word. You were born a strumpet and a strumpet you will remain until the day you die. Do you think I want Jack growing up knowing what a whore his mother is?’

She opened her mouth to protest but Geoffrey lifted his hand. ‘I’ve nothing more to say to you, Sarah, you may go.’

‘You won’t get away with this,’ Sarah said wildly. ‘I’ll blacken your name all over Swansea. I’ll make everyone realize what a misfit you are.’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No you won’t do that, Sarah. You are motivated by greed. You couldn’t exist without my money, that’s why you married me. In any case, not even you would want to destroy our son. What of his future with a father in prison?’

Sarah put her hand to her mouth to stop the flow of angry words. She knew, with a sinking of her spirits that Geoffrey had beaten her. She moved to the door and stood for a moment looking back at him.

‘Very well then, go. Get out of my sight. But I’ll never give my son up, believe me, I’ll win him back even if it takes me years to do it. Wait until he’s grown. What will he think of his father then?’

She flounced out of the room and hurried up the stairs, tears of rage and frustration pouring down her cheeks. How dare Geoffrey take her son away with no thought for how she would feel? She clenched her hands into fists. She hated him. She wanted to slap Geoffrey’s sad little face – she could never forgive him for what he had done to her, never.

Arian jerked awake. She was cramped and stiff from sitting in the chair in the small cabin of the
Marie Clare
. The boards groaned beneath her feet as the ship dipped gently from side to side. She rose to her feet and rubbed at her neck. How long had she been asleep? She peered through the porthole and saw that the ship had docked; she was in France. The dawn was beginning to streak the sky, and there were a few sailors strolling about the docklands.

She opened the door of the cabin and went onto the deck. The cold salt breeze stung her face and she was aware that she was suddenly very hungry.

There was no sign of Simples. Arian moved about the deck looking for someone to search for him. She saw one of the sailors glance at her curiously and she lifted her head and moved towards him.

‘Have you seen Mr Simples?’ she asked but the man shook his head uncomprehendingly. She bit her lip. It seemed that most of the crew of the
Marie Clare
were French and it was possible that the sailor had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Your Captain,’ she said slowly, ‘where is he?’

‘Captain Marchant, he leave the ship.’ The man pointed to the gangplank leading onto the quayside. Arian approached it and looked into the dark waters but the sailor was shaking his head as though to deter her from attempting to go ashore alone.

She fumed impatiently. Where on earth could Simples be? Would he have gone to the calf company without her?

The man brought her a cup of thick black coffee and she nodded her thanks. It was hot and sweet and brought some of the feeling back into her cramped limbs.

It was beginning to get light when Arian decided she could wait no longer. She fetched her bag and took out the address of the calf company. She would go ashore and find out if anyone knew where she could find the offices. It seemed they were here on the dockside somewhere, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate them. In any case, she had a suspicion she would find Simples there before her.

Arian edged her way along the gangplank and with a sigh of relief stepped onto the firm ground of the dockside. She looked around, wondering which direction to take and then moved forward impatiently – she had to do something, she couldn’t stand here all day hesitating.

She made her way towards a huddle of warehouses and turning a corner hesitated as she saw a group of sailors laughing together, one of them holding a bottle of wine aloft. He turned as though sensing her presence and smiled down at her, speaking rapidly in French, and reaching out he gestured for her to come forward.

She held out the piece of paper with the address of the company she was seeking but the man scarcely looked at it. Instead, he rested his hand on her shoulder, speaking to her softly, in a suggestive manner that chilled her.

She made to shake him off but he dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a handful of money making a gesture towards her that was quite graphic in its meaning. Arian stepped back in horror. It was clear he thought she was a cheap stand-up touting for trade. The docklands of France, as those of Swansea, were a place of rich pickings for any woman of the streets.

She shook her head and the man took out more money laughing down at her, and it was apparent from his attitude that he and his friends were the worse for drink.

She strode away and turned to see the man staring after her. He spoke violently in rapid French and Arian looked round to find she was surrounded by jeering sailors.

The men fell back suddenly and Arian was relieved to see Simples come forward. He spoke rapidly to the sailors in French, she heard and recognized the word ‘Gendarmes’ and the men seemed to melt away into the shadows.

Simples turned to her. ‘Arian, things haven’t turned out the way I expected, I’m sorry …’ His words trailed away. Arian didn’t see the police come up behind her. She felt her arms being jerked behind her back. They were one each side of her, two burly gendarmes propelling her forward, uncaring that she was stumbling over the rough stones.

She couldn’t believe it. She was being taken away by the police with little ceremony. Why, what did they think she had done wrong?

‘Mr Simples, what’s happening?’ she called but there was no reply. She was thrust into a creaking carriage and the nightmare journey through the unfamiliar streets began. She was uncomfortable, unable to sit back because of the way her arms were tied and every jerk of the carriage threatened to throw her to the floor.

The journey seemed to last for hours but at last the carriage came to a halt and she was thrust into the roadway. She fell to her knees but was hauled upright by rough hands and pushed forward into the entrance of what appeared to be a police station. Perhaps now, she thought, everything would be sorted out and she would be released.

An official-looking man sat upright behind a desk. His face was impassive as he talked to her in rapid French.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ she broke into the tirade, ‘I’m a stranger here.’

The man shook his head and muttered something to one of the gendarmes and then she was being dragged away. Unceremoniously, she was pushed into a cell and the door was slammed behind her with a ring of finality.

She fell against the rough wall and for a moment, lay there dazed. She shook her head to clear it. This could not be happening to her, it must be a bad dream, a nightmare. She’d had so many nightmares in her life this was surely just one more.

As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw that she was not alone. About twenty other women were crammed into the cell, most of them asleep or unconscious.

A young girl near to her spoke softly in French and Arian shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’ She heard the desperation in her voice and knew she was near to hysteria.

‘You English?’ the girl said and Arian turned to her eagerly.

‘Thank God,’ she said thankfully. ‘You speak English.’

The girl nodded. ‘A leetle, only.’

‘How long are they going to keep us here? What will happen?’

‘More slow, you must speak,’ the girl urged. ‘I not know much words.’

‘What is going to happen to us?’ Arian said trying to calm herself and speak more distinctly.

The girl shrugged ‘They keep us weeks, two or three, they turn us out then, back to the streets.’

Arian put her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t stay here for a day let alone a few weeks. She forced her trembling limbs to support her and then she called out loudly through the bars of the cell door.

‘Please come and help me! Help!’ she shouted.

The young girl tugged at her arm, shaking her head urgently but Arian was too overwrought to heed her.

‘I must get out of here!’ she called. A man appeared and snarled some words in her direction, and once more the girl at her side tugged her arm.

‘Just let me talk to someone,’ Arian pleaded and her heart lifted in hope as he began to unlock the door. The girl cowered back against the wall, and too late Arian realized the man was not going to help her but punish her.

He stepped inside the cell and, looking with disdain at her, spat on the ground. Without warning he slapped her full across the face and she fell, her head spinning with pain, unable to see for the lights that danced before her eyes.

The next blow caught her kidneys. She was unable to protect herself, as her hands were still tied. She gasped, drawing up her knees to protect her stomach. He rained blows upon her back and her head until Arian felt he would kill her.

She heard the young girl say something and she heard a harsh slap of the flat of the man’s hand on the young face. But he went away, slamming the door behind him, the key grating in the lock.

‘You be good and quiet.’ The girl lifted Arian’s head onto her lap. ‘It will be worse if you make ’im much anger.’

Arian felt one of her eyes begin to close. She drifted off into semi-consciousness, thinking disjointedly that she was a girl again with her father coming home drunk from the public and venting his rage on her.

The darkness that was creeping up on her was welcome and she allowed herself to sink into it with a sense of relief.

It was morning when she woke and for a moment, Arian felt a sense of total confusion. She didn’t know where she was except that the place was damp and the smell around her was nauseating. Then she remembered that she was in a French prison and she sat up abruptly, groaning as she felt the bruises on her face and body.

Most of the women around her were still asleep but one young girl was attempting to wash at the mean bowl of water that apparently had been pushed through the bars of the cell. Arian recognized her as the girl who had befriended her the previous night. The girl turned and smiled and indicated the bowl.

Arian crawled forward, her legs trembling, and as a wave of faintness washed over her, she realized it was many hours since she’d eaten a meal.

‘Have water now,’ the girl whispered, ‘before everyone else uses it.’

The water felt good on her face though Arian flinched as she inadvertently brushed her bruises. She dried her skin on the hem of her skirt and then sank down in her corner, thinking ruefully that even in this hell-hole there was a sense of guarding one’s own territory.

Some hours later, she was alerted by the sound of the cell door being opened. She felt rough hands drag her to her feet and then she was being propelled into the corridor.

She tried to struggle and was immediately struck across the face so that she fell heavily against the rough stone wall. Hauled upright, half unconscious, she was half pushed, half dragged up a flight of stairs and led along another corridor. Then she was in a bare room with Simples standing looking at her in concern.

He spoke rapidly in French to the gendarme who seemed anything but discomfited by the tirade. He shrugged and replied laconically.

Simples untied the ropes that bound her and then held her in his arms. Arian was too exhausted, and too grateful for his presence, to protest.

‘Thank God, I managed to talk some sense into these foreigners,’ he whispered. ‘They intended holding you on charges of fraud, something to do with the calf company.’

Arian clung to him, still not fully conscious, her head aching, her body sore and bruised. She heard Simples continue speaking without fully understanding what he was saying.

‘I’ve had to tell them that you are my responsibility, that I will take charge of you, otherwise they are not willing to release you.’

He put his finger over her lips as she would have spoken. ‘Be careful, I’m not sure even now they believe me that you are innocent or that you know nothing about this company. All you did was to give them an order for calf.’

Arian leaned against him wearily, resigned to allowing him to sort everything out for her. It should have surprised her that Simples spoke very good French but somehow it didn’t. Nothing about him surprised her any more.

A man in plain clothes entered the room and spoke to Gerald in French. Gerald nodded, obviously agreeing to something the man was saying and quite suddenly, the gendarme standing to attention became almost festive in his attitude. He smiled at Arian and shortly a woman came in carrying the bag Arian had brought ashore.

She was led to a washroom, given a clean towel and some of her own clean clothes. She washed and changed with little enthusiasm. A quick look in the cracked and damp-speckled mirror was enough to show her that her eye was swollen and black and she was looking far from her best. But at least they were releasing her, doubtless the authorities had seen the error of their ways and were trying to make amends.

She was taken back to the bare room and saw that a priest had joined the company. He scarcely looked at her bruised face and seemed engrossed in the papers the gendarme was holding before him.

‘What is it?’ Arian whispered, as Simples came to her side and shook his head. ‘Just say what I tell you to and then we will be out of here,’ he whispered urgently.

The priest stood before them and spoke some words. Arian listened in bewilderment. Was she being asked to swear that she was not guilty of fraud? She didn’t care – so long as she was let out of the prison she would say anything they wanted her to.

She clumsily repeated the words Simples spoke. Her tongue felt thick, she felt faint and ill, her head ached intolerably and all she wanted to do was to lie down somewhere where it was quiet and dark and comfortable.